


Wayne, not Potter

by Vidfinn



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Harry Potter is Not a Horcrux, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vidfinn/pseuds/Vidfinn
Summary: At the end of 2nd year, Harry has to take a blood test at Gringotts. It turns out a lot of things were hidden from him.
Comments: 159
Kudos: 288





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome.
> 
> This is my first time writing in English, so do not hesitate to point out spelling errors, phrasal misconstructions, etc.  
> Seeing the sheer number of Batman universes, I decided to place my story after Jason's death. Damian is already Robin, Dick is Nightwing, and as for now, I am still not sure about the presence or not of Tim. The story takes place in the 21th century, so Harry is likely born in the 90s and not the 80s.
> 
> Enjoy, and do not hesitate to tell me what you think of it!

Chapter 1 – Prologue

The sun was shining bright at King’s Cross Station, but at the pickup deposit, a young boy with a head full of dark locks was mildly panicking. Where was it? Where was it? He heaved a long sigh and squared his shoulders. That was a conversation he did not want to have. He approached a honking car, and lightly knocked on the passenger’s window. The glass opened just enough so that the seal of a driver was able to erupt:

“What in the heavens are you waiting for, boy? Do you think I have nothing better to do but come pick you up? Stop wasting honest people’s time with your freakish business and get in the car this instant!”

“Err… Uncle Vernon… I have lost my wallet; I must go back…”

“Do you think I give a damn about your stuff? You better-”

“No, you don’t understand, it is very important I-”

“Listen to me, _boy_ , if you so much as take a step back, you will come back home on foot, said Vernon, mustache trembling and face dangerously purpling. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry was taken aback. His uncle wasn’t really going to leave him here all alone? Then he thought back to the time, some years ago, where he got lost in the supermarket near Privet Drive. He had waited in front of the building for hours before it closed, and he understood he had been left here. He had walked home in the dark, cold, hungry, and humiliated, and when he arrived, dinner had already been cleared and the dishes were waiting for him in the sink. A sense of bitterness invaded him, and defiance shone in his eyes. Teeth gritted, knuckles white, he backed down and jutted his chin.

“Not like it would be the first time. I’ll manage.”

He then turned around and climbed back the stairs to the entrance, under his uncle’s furious sputtering. At the door, he looked back and saw the car roaring away. A pinch in his heart told him that he should maybe have better planned this. He was all alone, far from home. His eyes burned for a moment, before he repressed whatever tears might try to slide down his cheeks.

First thing’s first. He had to get back to the Hogwarts Express. His wallet might still be there. Ignoring the curious looks sent his owl’s way, Harry walked to the tenth platform, and, after making sure no one was looking his way, crossed the wall to the 9¾th. Despair started to invade him when he saw that the train was not there anymore. A few people were still lingering about, but the majority had already left. Harry breathed through his nose. Calm down. Centre yourself. Think. The world is not ending just because you lost your wallet. Even though it did contain the only picture of him, Hermione, and Ron he had. He exhaled through his teeth. Where to go when you lose your wallet? The bank. He had to get to Gringotts. Following the signs, he arrived in Diagon Alley. He let his feet lead him to the bank, invisible in the midst of people mingling about.

In the bank, he went to the front desk, to wait in line. When his turn came, he looked up to the menacing face of a goblin.

“Purpose?”

“Err… I… I lost my wallet, stuttered a blushing Harry…”

The goblin stared at him with a sneer for a few seconds, before pointing a long, yellow, and crooked nail toward one of the desks behind him. Harry ducked his head in shame and almost ran there. The goblin at this desk was not more amicable, and after Harry painfully uttered his problem, asked for an ID. He then proceeded to laugh cruelly in front of the muggle ID Harry provided him with.

“I am afraid you will not be able to prove your identity with that, Mr Potter…”

“But… Isn’t there another mean for me to prove it?”

“Your key would be a good start, seeing that you have not registered your wand yet.”

“I… I don’t have my key…”

“That’s too bad… drawled the goblin maliciously.”

“But… How will I be able to buy my books at the end of august?”

“Unless you are willing to take a blood test, there is nothing I can do to help.”

“A blood test? I am willing!”

The goblin stopped smiling for a moment, contemplating, then got down his seat.

“If you will follow me. The test will be 15 galleons.”

He then proceeded to guide Harry in a corridor and made him enter a room richly furnished. A goblin was seated behind a humongous desk, writing on a book almost as large as he was. The first goblin said something in a tongue Harry had had never heard before leaving and closing the door behind him. The goblin seated, Urg, Head of Gringotts, said the plaque on his desk, finished writing before looking at Harry.

“So, you are here for a blood test, Mr…?”

“Potter, sir. Harry Potter.”

“Sit down, and we will see if you say the truth. Last chance to back out. We don’t take kindly to liars.”

“I am Harry Potter, I swear!”

“Let’s find out.”

Harry sat down on the chair in front of the desk, and the goblin hopped down from his seat and went to rummage through a drawer. He walked to Harry with a wicked looking blade and a tiny rune-engraved bowl. Harry felt fear cursing through him, and Urg must have perceived it, if his cruel smirk was anything to go by. Without any warning whatsoever, he gripped Harry’s hand and cut a fine line on the open palm. Two drops of blood fell into the bowl and the runes started glowing faintly. Harry curled his hand back to his chest, palm stinging lightly. Before his wary eyes, the blood in the bowl started thickening and growing, taking the form of a folded parchment paper. Urg took it and discarded the bowl and blade. He opened it and started reading through the results.

“Well, then. It looks like you have a right to the Potters vault… However, you are not one.”

Harry’s heart stopped for a second. His mind went empty, then all hell broke loose in his mind.

“P-Pardon me? I… I am a Potter! My, my father and mother were James and Lily Potter! It… It can’t be! There must be a mistake!”

“Let it be known that goblins don’t make mistakes, grated Urg. And while your mother was indeed Lily Potter, nee Evans, your father was not James Potter, but one Bruce Wayne.”

“… Bruce… Wayne? Who is…? Who is Bruce Wayne?”

“Probably one of the 6 billion humans out there. I suppose you will want to access the Evans vault?”

“Evans?... Yes, I… I would, I suppose…”

“Then, follow me, Mr Wayne.”

In a daze, Harry got up and absentmindedly trailed after Urg. They climbed into a wagon and even the bumpy ride could not pierce the confused fog in Harry’s head. They reached a vault, and he would have been hard pressed to remember anything about the way they came. The goblin opened the gated door and Harry was faced with a smallish room almost completely bare. A little pile of coins rested in the middle, and upon it, a sealed envelope. He walked slowly to the letter, and with trembling fingers, traced the addressee. “Harry”. Throat constricted, he opened it. With clumsy hands, he started to read.

“Harry, my love.

I am sorry. If you read this letter, it means I died too early to explain everything you should know. I wish I could have shielded you from the world, and the war. I wish I could have told you who your birth father really was in person.

His name is Bruce Wayne. We met almost a year ago at the time I am writing this letter. We parted in unfortunate circumstances, but he is both wealthy and powerful. If there is a person I would trust to keep you safe, it would be him. In all my years in the wizarding world, I have come to the conclusion that the wizards are cocky. They think themselves above muggles, or no-majs as they call them in America. Most of them are not even conscious of how much they underestimate the rest of the world. But if there is one thing I learnt both as an auror and a muggleborn witch, it is that very few of them know how to react in front of firearms. They don’t even know what they are, for the majority, and don’t thing anything muggle-created could affect them. It is true that magic has a tendency to mess with electronic devices, but a mere gun is only mechanic, and thus not affected by magic in any way.

James was not able fully to adopt you, as it would have required the authorisation from Bruce, but to protect you, we put you under a powerful malifius-derivate. You will look almost exactly like James as long as you don’t take the antidote. A vial of it was placed in this vault.

I beg you, Harry, to call Alfred Pennyworth at +1 XXX-XXX-XXXX. He works for Bruce Wayne as a butler, but he is one of the most trustworthy people out there. You will be safe with them.

There is a revolver in the vault, and a little bit of cash, both in muggle and wizard currency.

I wish you luck, my dearest love. Be brave.

Mom”

Tears started rolling down Harry’s cheeks then staining the letter, blurring the words. Attached to the letter was a picture of his mom and him, at the hospital. She looked exhausted but happy. He looked pruned and red. He did not remember much of what happened afterward. He vaguely recalled having paid the 15 galleons fee to the goblins, having packed the money, vial, and gun into his luggage, but everything else was rather uncertain. He came back to him on a bench outside a park of London, muggle-side, with no idea of how he had come to be here. The letter was rumpled tightly in his fist, and, seeing a telephone box, he walked up to it, and, almost in a daze, put in coins and the number.

He feared for a moment that no one would answer. Where did Mr Wayne even live? Then, just a second before he hang up, a distinguished British accent.

“Wayne Manor, how may I help you?”


	2. First Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred sometimes wished his intuition wasn't so accurate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your comments and support,   
> It helps me and motivates me, and I am forever grateful for that.
> 
> As usual, do not hesitate to hail me if you see any mistakes, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 1 – First Contact

When Alfred woke up this morning, everything was as usual. He served breakfast to masters Bruce, Tim, and Damian, sent master Dick home with a few breakfast sandwiches and a chocolate thermos, and had started with his chores right away. The patrol had been tumultuous so he knew both masters Tim and Damian would probably take it easy, at least this morning, even though they would both try to hide their tiredness to each other in this rivalry they had established.

He was actually wondering how to pacify them more permanently while ironing master Bruce’s suits when the phone rang. He was surprised to see an unknown number, apparently from England. Clients knew better than to try to contact Wayne company at the manor. A crash and some shouts in a nearby room made him sigh before he decided to get it done with the call so he could reign in the two hellions under master Bruce’s care.

“Wayne Manor, how may I help you?”

A sharp intake of breath was the only answer on the other side. Alfred rose an eyebrow. Could this be a prank call? What a waste of time. He waited for a few more instants for an answer, before warning:

“I will hang up, now. Have a nice day.”

“Wait! Wait! Are you…? I mean… Are you B-Bruce Wayne…?”

The voice was that of a child, high and clear with an unmistakable British accent, and Alfred started to feel as if something ominous were on the brink of happening.

“Master Wayne is not home right now. Do you want to leave him a message?”

“I… er… I need to speak to him… Are you, are you his butler? Mr Pennyworth?”

“It is I, indeed.”

“My… I mean… My mother was Lily Potter… She told me I could trust you…”

Alfred paused at that. Miss Lily was one of master Wayne’s numerous conquests, some long years ago. She had come from England to chase after a convict that had escaped to the USA. Her and Master Wayne had met during her investigation and had hit it off right away. She had taken a vacation after her case, to stay a little longer in America, and some months later, had moved in in all but name. Alfred was not exactly sure why she left, but she did, very suddenly. She had seemed very distressed for a few days before resignation pushed her away. She had been good for Bruce and he had been deeply hurt and fell prey to Talia Al Ghul not long after. Alfred had tried to keep track of her for a while, but after learning she had wed one of her colleagues, one James Potter, back in England 7 months later, he stopped. In his experience, long gone people did not reappear for no reason, and usually, neither for good reasons. He sincerely hoped to be in the wrong.

“What is your name, young sir?”

“I… My name is Harry Potter, sir… I mean…”

“Where are your parents, young sir?”

“They… They are dead, sir… Well, I mean… I thought so…”

The last part was almost inaudible, and the feeling that something dire was to happen intensified. Alfred prayed to be wrong.

“Young sir, may I inquire about the identity of your father?”

“…”

“…”

“… I… I thought it was J-James Potter… but the blood test… It read… It read…”

“What did it read, young sir?”

“It… It read… B-Bruce Wayne…”

Alfred took a second to close his eyes and breathe through his nose. Now was a most inconvenient time to uncover one of master Bruce’s bastard children, but it had to be dealt with. He almost wished for it to be a prank call.

“Young sir. I think that you understand that I would need to confirm your say.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“May I speak with your guardian?”

“… They are not here… sir…”

“Where are you, young sir?”

“I… I am in London…”

“And your guardians?”

“In Little Whinging, sir…”

“Can you reach them?”

“I… I don’t know, sir… I don’t have their phone number…”

“How did you come to London?”

“I came here from my… boarding school by train. But I had an argument with Uncle Vernon…”

“Can you tell me the name of the street you are in, young sir?”

“Y-Yes! Of course! It is… Er, Burton street, sir!”

Quickly, Alfred looked up the address on the internet. He then immediately booked a reservation at a nearby hostel.

“Young sir, around the corner of the Robin Steer International Arbitration building, you will find a hostel called Ambassadors Bloomsbury Hotel. I took the liberty of booking you a room for the next few days, with room service and breakfast. Tomorrow, someone will come to take your blood. We will then think about what will happen. Are you satisfied with this arrangement?”

“Am I… What?”

“Oh, the staff is warned not to let more than one person into the room, so I do hope that you are telling the truth.”

“I! I am! I am not a liar!”

“Then everything will be fine. You will be able to order food from the room service, the expenses will be taken care of by master Bruce. I trust you will not abuse it.”

“N-No, of course not…”

“Then I look forward to contacting you once the results have come in, young sir.”

“Yes… Yes, I do, too…”

“Have a nice day, sir.”

“Thanks, you too…”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to steer off a headache. Let us wait until after the results have come in to alert master Bruce. If this is really a scam, maybe the boy will not even enter the hostel. As for the moment, a distant noise of explosion and the distinctive smell of smoke alerted him that he should check on masters Tim and Damian _right this instant_ , and preferably with a fire-extinguisher. Then, he would have to contact a laboratory in the UK.

He hurried his pace to what he hoped was not a crime scene, yet.

Harry stood for a few moments longer in the phone box. He did not really know how to react. Maybe Mr Pennyworth had said true and had booked a hostel room for him. he sincerely hoped it was not a joke. He did not think he could take one today. His stomach grumbled and reminded him of the time. He should check this hostel. He walked around the International Arbitration building and came to a luxurious looking hostel entrance, complete with an owning and grooms. Throat tight, he walked in under the suspicious gaze of the security, the only reason he was able to come in his massive luggage. He walked up the reception area and greeted the well-dressed lady behind the desk.

“Hi… Um… Hello… My name is Harry Potter… There is a… reservation for me?”

Clearly dubious, the woman checked her computer, before her face went stone cold. For a brief moment, she said nothing, then, smiling sickly sweet, she said:

“Of course, Mr Potter. Would you mind signing a few forms? Just to confirm you arrived there.”

“Y-Yes, I… I can…”

She made him sign a few papers, then gave him the key to his room and hailed a groom to help him with his luggage. He took Hedwig’s cage with him, still. He could not shake the impression that her gaze and that of a hostel’s manager she was whispering to were following him as he left the lobby. His owl attracted a few stares, but he felt it was different. Maybe he was paranoid…

As soon as he was alone in his hostel room, he felt some of the accumulated tension disappear. He almost dropped to his knees, but a trill from his owl reminded him to secure her cage and let her free range into the room. It was a very spacious suite, complete with a humongous bed adorned by the fluffiest pillows he had ever seen, a corner dedicated to entertaining, if one were to believe the mini fridge, the sofas and the television on the wall, and a door leading to a pristine bathroom. A desk in a corner hosted a phone and a pamphlet of the hostel, as well as a few touristic maps.

He went to the bathroom and passed water on his face, trying to keep the tears in. looking up, he crossed his reflection’s eye. He looked… bad. Puffy red eyes, waxy skin, shaggy hair that looked like it had never seen a comb in its life, oversized ragged clothes… it was a miracle he had been let inside this fancy establishment. He took the letter out of his pocket and read it again, the words blurring before his eyes. He suddenly startled and read the same line again and again. He looked at his reflection once more, before rushing back into the bedroom. He ruffled through his luggage and gripped the vial he had acquired at Gringotts. The antidote to the spell that made him look almost identical to his… he supposed his adopted father… the tiny glass bottle suddenly felt as if it weighted a thousand pounds.


	3. A Change of Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note here: Harry is not a Horcrux, so he does not have any scar on his forehead.   
> Draw your conclusions here, I would love to hear about your theory and how it might influence the story ;-)
> 
> I would like to thank profusely all the people who wrote a comment and left kuddos! Thank you, it helps me so much. You rock!

Chapter 2 – A Change of Face

Harry stared intensely at the little vial for what seemed to be but a moment but was actually almost minutes. What would happen when he took the vial? Would it act like Polyjuice potion? Would it be permanent? Who would he look like?

His stomach was so knotted it hurt. Come on! It could not be worse than fighting Voldemort – twice! He breathed a shaky sigh, then, gathering all of his Griffindor’s courage, opened the vial and swiftly gulped it down. For a second, nothing happened, and he started to wonder if the potion was maybe too old to have been still potent.

Then, the cramping started. He took back all he had said about Polyjuice Potion. It was a walk in the park next to… this. He could only just refrain from screaming. His entire body was raided by a pain so powerful it felt like he was burned alive. He could only remember the burn of the Basilisk’s fang and had to clutch his forearm, where the scar laid, seemingly the epicentre of the atrocious pain he was riddled with. Each and every one of his nerve ending was on fire it seemed, from his toes all the way to his scalp. To his horror, he felt something brush his ear, and, with a gigantic effort, opened his eyes. He could do nothing but throw up when he saw it was a chunk of hair, and that others were starting to fall from his head. What was happening, in Merlin’s sake?! He almost shouted, but a new wave of pain pierced his eyes and closed his throat. He could only gargle something inaudible as he lost consciousness.

Sun tickled Harry’s nose, waking him up. He wiggled his toes and fingers, feeling cramped up and nauseous. Had he angered Uncle Vernon _that_ much? Then, he remembered, and with complete consciousness came soreness. He had not felt that uneasy in his own skin in a long time… In ever, maybe. He opened one eye with difficulty, the other crusted with tears, mucous and sweat. Disgusting. He succeeded in getting up, crippled with a dull but continuous pain. He limped to the bathroom, and, as he could see next to nothing, opted for a shower before the reveal. He wanted to go as fast as possible, anxious about what he would find in the mirror, but as soon as the hot water touched him, the pain diminished, and his shoulder shed some of the tension they carried. He ended up almost dozing under the water, and it was only once he almost hit the wall with his sleepy head that he took action.

He, as quickly and efficiently as he could, lathered himself up in soap and shampoo, eager to get rid of the sweat, tears and other grim from the previous day. As soon as he touched his bare head, he felt sick. Had he really lost all of his hair? It seemed like it. Actually, passing his hand on his body, it seemed that all of his hairs had fallen off. What else had he lost? Despairing a little, Harry suppressed the tears that wanted to fall and the wave of nausea that threatened to submerge him. He swallowed it back down. Harry turned off the water and left the shower stall, burying himself in a soft towel to ward off the chill of the room. From what he could see, his skin was the pasty white of someone who had never seen the sun. Breathe. Breathe profoundly. Nothing can be all that bad… Now that his eyes were cleared, he remarked that even though he could see way better without his glasses than before, there was still a light fuzziness at the edge of his vision that indicated he would still need glasses. His glance stopped at the sink. just a step and he would be in front of it. Just a step and he would be in front of the mirror.

Jelly legged, he breathed a shaky sigh, and took the step. He could not stand the sight that greeted him for long. Waxy and sickly white skin, still bony and skinny-looking. His bald head, sunken, red, and horrified eyes and bloodless lips made him look like a skull. He could not bear his refection. He buried himself in the towel once more and more or less fell to the ground. Exhaustion took him faster than he could have hoped and everything went dark.

A trill took him from the softness of slumber. Migraine hammering behind his eyes, he gingerly got up on his feet. It took him another moment to realise it was probably the sound of the phone in the main room. Stumbling, shivering under his towel, he padded off the bathroom, and had to refrain from gagging at the smell. The pool of vomit in which he had lost consciousness previously greeted him, littered by chunks of his hair. Fighting to regain control over his body, he staggered to the phone on the nightstand, and went back into the bathroom to be able to breathe without feeling sick. He breathed profoundly for a second, before hearing someone speak over the phone. Hurriedly, he put it to his ear:

“…lo? Is everything alright, young sir?”

“Y-Yes, I’m sorry, mister Pennyworth… I was… taking a shower…”

“… Is that so.”

Harry got the distinctive impression that he was not trusted one bit.

“I have news, young sir. In approximately three hours from now, a certified nurse from Forth Private Clinic will come to your room to take some blood samples. If you do not object, obviously.”

“Oh! Oh, no! I’m okay, I mean, I agree with that…”

“Perfect, young sir. By the way, the staff informed me that you have not ordered any sustenance. Is something not to your liking? Do you have any kind of dietary requirements that are not met in this fine establishment?”

“W… What? No, absolutely not! I swear, everything is good, I just… forgot…”

“You forgot to eat? How queer. You would do best not to forget in the future, young sir. It might be best to eat before and after the nurse visits you.”

“Y-Yes, sir…”

“Good, then. Will that be all?”

“Err… Yes…”

“Perfect. Do not forget. Three hours from now. Have a pleasant day.”

Harry was a bit baffled. Had he been scolded or was it just his imagination? He shook his head to clear his thoughts and regretted it instantly when his headache reared back with the movement. Okay, Harry, centre yourself. He breathed through his nose. He had three hours to make the room and himself presentable again and to order food. Laying the phone down onto the counter, he considered putting his old clothes back on, but a quick examination revealed some traces he would prefer not to analyse further. He opted for the bathrobe hanging on the wall. Then, putting on a brave face, he took the wet wipes under the sink and went to clean up the bedroom. It was both a difficult and easy task. Difficult at the beginning because of the sight and smell, then it became easier when the movement became regular. It was similar to the mind-numbingness of some of the tasks Aunt Petunia used to give him every summer. The cleaning done, he dressed up as nicely as possible, choosing the shirt and pants of his Hogwarts uniform over Dudley’s oversized hand me down formless old clothes.

He checked twice again to make sure everything was as normal as possible, before taking care of Hedwig, then sitting down with the hostel’s menu. He knew he should eat, but he was feeling a bit sick in his stomach. Not to upset his benefactor, he selected some scones and a hot chocolate from the reception. Less than fifteen minutes later, someone knocked at the door. Cautiously, he opened. The hostel’s employee in front of him froze for an instant in front of him, his eyes passing from his skull to his face, his expression worried before he schooled it with professionalism.

“Room service, sir.”

“Oh… Thanks”

Harry picked the tray from him and hastily closed the door, incredibly awkward about his appearance. He all but threw the tray on the coffee table, some of the hot chocolate spilling, and rushed to the bathroom. The shower was full of his soiled clothed, cleaned as much as he could and left to dry. He forced himself to look in the mirror and once again, a crawling and uneasy feeling tore through him. It was not him in the mirror. He wanted to tear at his new skin, to recover his own. But he understood the look of the steward. With the dark circles under his eyes and his gaunt and bald face, he looked either haunted, sick, or deranged.

He could not decently draw himself some new eyebrows, but he could cover his lack of hair. He ruffled through his suitcase and fished a woollen hat. granted, it was June, but he was not all that warm. He pondered for a moment whether or not keep it, but the thought of seeing his bare head once again made him feel queasy. He pulled the hat over his ears, feeling even so slightly comforted by the small gesture. Whatever, it was not like the nurse was coming to judge him.

He inched towards the coffee table and mopped the chocolate around the cup. He then finally sat down, crossed legged on the floor, and enjoyed the soothing beverage. He missed Hogwarts pumpkin juice dearly. But what he missed the most were his friends. He wished they were here. They had gone through so much together; he could use their support right now. He berated himself. Now was not the time to get upset over nothing. He was not a little cry-baby; he could take care of himself just fine.

He almost jumped out of his skin when someone knocked at the door once more. Rubbing his arms nervously, he glanced at the time. It was probably the nurse. Opening quickly, he was met with a dime a dozen looking suit clad man, hanging from his shoulder was a professional looking medical bag.

“Hello. Mister Harry Potter, I presume? My name is Andrew Mitchell, I am the nurse called by Alfred Pennyworth.”

His smile was wan and his tone cautious. Harry nodded, mute, and opened the door wider to let his get inside.

“Well, young man. Everything should be done in a couple of minutes. Sit tight, and I will get to work.”

Overwhelmed, Harry obeyed and closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was sure to happen. He felt the tourniquet on his arm, the cold and wet swipe of disinfectant, then the sharp pain of the needle. Breathing through his teeth, he tried to follow the reassuring voice of the nurse. Soon enough, the deal was done. The tubes were put away in the case, the used needle and gauze thrown in the bin. Harry now had a colourful plaster in the crook of his elbow. The nurse lingered a bit, to make sure he felt well, before instructing him to eat well, and to take the sun. just before leaving, he asked, a bit unsure:

“Is there anything you would want to tell me, Mister Potter?”

His gaze was piercing, and Harry felt pinned and uneasy. He shook his head, throat once again constricted. The nurse stared at him for a second more, then left the room.

Once outside, Nurse Mitchell called his employer.

“Wayne Manor, may I help you?”

“Hello again, sir Pennyworth. I have taken the blood of Mister Potter.”

“How did it go?”

“Well, he did not fight, but he was looking quite weary, gaunt. He looked as if he had never seen the sun. and sir… He did not have any hair. So, unless he had chemotherapy not long ago, I think he may have another condition…”

“Get all you can from the blood samples, and make sure to check if his DNA matches with the one I sent you.”

“I will do that, sir.”

“Anything else, Nurse Mitchell?”

“Err… He had a raw looking scar on his forearm, sir. As if a knife had been plunged into his flesh.”

“Mm… That is concerning. Unfortunately, this matter is for now outside of my jurisdiction. Please hurry with the results. I will take care of Mister Potter’s health as much as I can from here.”

“Perfect, sir. I will get in touch as soon as the results come in from the lab.”

“Do, please. I bid you a nice day.”

“Thanks, and to you too.”

Alfred hung up, a frown marring his face. The Potter Mystery was just getting thicker and thicker. And it was looking none too pleasant. Schooling his face when he heard steps behind him, he turned:

“Master Dick, how may I help you?”

“I need to find the gremlin. I am certain he was the one who took my staffs!”

“May I suggest looking in the gym? Master Damian tends to spend his time in a productive manner, either studying or training.”

“Thanks, Alfred! You’re the best!”

“You are most welcome, Master Dick.”

Following Master Dick’s retreat, Alfred wrote a quick message to the hostel so that they would regularly feed Harry Potter, and went to look for a computer. It was time to find what this mystery child looked like.


	4. Thickening Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred investigates the potential loose threads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter.  
> Thanks to all the person who left a comment, a kudo and that support me.  
> As always, I look forward to your feedback, both in terms of content and in terms of style.
> 
> Bye!

Chapter 3 – Thickening Mystery

Alfred Pennyworth was good at what he did. He had to. First a soldier, then a butler and help of a secret vigilante, he would not have survived had he been half as good as he was. He knew that, too. Which was why he was starting to get, maybe not worried, but definitely concerned.

He had looked through different channels for pictures of one Harry Potter – maybe Wayne, without much success. He had found one or two school pictures in which Harry was identified on the personal pages of some old classmates, but not much else. Very few medical records, no traces of the late James Potter, and big gaps in Lily’s records. Her sister, Petunia, had married a certain Vernon Dursley some 13 years ago, and they lived in Little Whinging with their son, Dudley Dursley, a carbon copy of his father, it seemed. They were indeed registered as taking care of their nephew, but no traces of him anywhere but the school registration and social care. And then it began to get even stranger. Harry Potter had disappeared from September to June for two years now. The neighbours believed to boy had been sent to St Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. However, it seemed no such boarding school existed anywhere in England.

Alfred had then turned to the boy’s mother. Lily Evans. To his moderate surprise, the young Lily had also disappeared from official records from the age of 11, only reappearing sparsely once adult. And the only mention of a James Potter married to Lily Evans was in the census, marriage papers, and death certificate. Neither of Harry’s parents seemed to have received any schooling, higher education, or even medical attention throughout their lives.

It was both baffling and baffling and distressing. Again, in Alfred’s experience, people popping out of nowhere were usually people to be worried about. So, who were these people, and where did they belong? Because Alfred was certain of one thing. Lily Evans and James Potter had been part of something, James maybe from birth, and Harry was in as well. Cult, closed-off community, crime syndicate or something else, he did not have the means to know yet. But he would. And he would judge whether or not they were a threat to his charge or the people of this world.

Intrigued by the retelling of Nurse Mitchell, he contacted the hostel’s manager and asked the boy be called down to the lobby to complete a form about the accommodations.

The camera feed stoned him for a second. He squinted and adjusted the quality of the video. The boy was not the one on the photos. They had some similarities, but could, at best, pass for cousins. Once the papers filled, the child went back to the elevator, then to his room, without a doubt, hunched over himself, covered from head to toe in spite of the mild weather in London. He asked to be transferred the papers, and to talk to the clerk who had welcomed Harry Potter in the lobby. He was put on hold for a minute before a woman’s voice rang:

“Hello, mister Pennyworth? My name is Marsha Davis, I was at the counter when the boy you booked a room for came in the hostel. You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes, Miss Davis. On your computer, two pictures are being uploaded. I would like for you to tell me if one of them was Harry Potter.”

“Where? Oh! I see them… Er, definitely the first one. The boy had hair.”

“I would like for you to focus as much as you can and try to ignore the lack of hair on the second picture. Are you certain the boy you saw was the one on the first picture?”

“Mm… No, yes, I am completely sure. I remember him very well, it is not everyday a child dressed like… that has a suite booked for him. and he had a caged bird. I mean, how can I forget that?”

“A bird?”

“Yes, sir. A snow-white bird. I think it was an owl, but I could be mistaken…”

“An owl… Can you describe how he was dressed for me, please?”

“Well, he was wearing clothes that did not fit him. they were a least four to five sizes larger and stained or worn down. There were holes in his shoes. To be honest, at first, I had half the mind to get him out because I thought he was a hob… I mean, a homeless person. I mean, we have standards here, sir. I am sure you understand.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Davis. If you remember anything else that looked unusual, please contact your manager.”

“It was nothing, sir. I hope I was able to help you.”

“You did. Have a nice evening.”

“Thank you, sir. Goodbye.”

Alfred hung up. Miss Davis had seen boy number one, who looked like the one on the school pictures. Nurse Mitchell had seen boy number two. Who had never appeared anywhere on camera before. But when Alfred compared the signatures of Harry Potter and the mystery bald boy, they were identical. And there was no way they could have been forged. Who was Harry Potter?

For the next few days, Alfred continued to check the camera feeds of the hostel, to see if the boy would be replaced by another one, but on the rare occasions where he would come down, he looked mostly the same. His hair, eyebrows and eyelashes were starting to grow back, a black fuzz for now, but he did not look like Harry Potter. He was distracted by his phone ringing. Looking at the caller’s name, he tensed. Time to get some answers.

“Mister Pennyworth?”

“Nurse Mitchell. I hope you pardon my rudeness, but I need answers as fast as I can. What have you found?”

“Well, this boy’s name really is Harry Potter, and, according to the data you sent me, his father is indeed Bruce Wayne.”

Alfred let out a silent breath. It looked like problems were just getting started.

“Alright. What else? What about his health?”

“The patient presents a lot of deficiencies, most of them vitamin deficiencies, but he also lacks in iron among other elements. I fear these types of profile are usually found in neglected or impoverished children. I did not find any trace of cancer or cancer treatment, but the patient presents abnormally high levels of white corpuscles and low levels of red cells. It looks like his immune system is fighting some kind of illness, and that his blood was replaced, it is highly disturbing. I have to admit I cannot interpret these results without a more in-depth examination.”

“… That does indeed seem a little odd… Please send me the complete files. I will take care of the rest.”

“I will send them right away.”

“Perfect. It was a pleasure doing business with Forth Private Clinic.”

“Of course, sir. We thrive to raise up to our name. Do not hesitate to call us if you need our services.”

“I will not, thank you. I bid you farewell, Nurse Mitchell.”

“Thanks, and to you too, Mister Pennyworth.”

As soon as he hung up, Alfred looked up the internet, then picked up his phone again and dialled up a new number.

“ARGO Investigations London, may I help you?”

“Hello, yes, I believe you can. I need to hire one of your private investigators.”

“Very well, is it a private investigation?”

“Indeed.”

“What would be the nature of the investigation?”

“It would be a background check.”

“Alright. Do you wish for a male or female detective?”

“I do not care for their gender as long as they are competent, Miss.”

“I will need bank account details, personal details, your credit card number, and a standard down payment.”

“Of course.”

He gave her the required information and was subsequently mailed a few forms.

“Alright, sir. You need to fill in the forms and send them back to us. You will need to put down as many details as you can about your case. Your appointed investigator is Detective Martins. An appointment will be booked in the 48 hours from the moment you email us all the relevant information.”

“I understand. I will be as swift and concise as I can.”

“Wonderful! Did you need anything else?”

“No, that will be all. Thank you for your service. Have a pleasant day.”

“You too, sir.”

Alfred sighed. With that done, he would get field information on the Dursleys and the Evans. Now, onto a much more difficult task.

He left his office and went to prepare some tea and biscuits in the kitchen. Tray carefully balanced on his arm, he walked through the manor and stopped in front of a mahogany door. He knocked lightly and came in.

“Master Bruce, may I have a moment, please. It is of the upmost importance.”


	5. Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred informs Bruce of his discoveries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> As usual, thank you for you support and feedback. It was brought to my attention that Alfred only calls Bruce Master Wayne in formal settings, so I fixed the previous chapter.
> 
> Do not hesitate to send me your thoughts on the story so far, and to mention any errors that might occur into my work.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 4: Bruce

Bruce Wayne was a man that was not easily impressed. He had been toughened and hardened through fire and blood and had often come out victorious. But here he was, in his home-office, alone, staring into the void. He would not have been able to describe exactly what feelings were passing through him, but he recognised anger, confusion and hurt were recurrent.

Alfred had come to talk to him about an important matter. He had not imagined it would be this serious.

“Master Bruce, may I have a moment, please. It is of the upmost importance.”

“Of course, Alfred. What seems to be the matter?”

“I have been recently in contact with a peculiar young man, currently situated in London.”

“Is he a menace to be accounted for?”

“I do not think so. However, he seems to be the son of Lily Evans, sir.”

“… Lily?... I suppose there is more to this than just informing me of the existence of Lily and her husband’s child…”

“Indeed, sir. By all means, he appears to have been conceived out of wedlock, around twelve years ago.”

Bruce had stayed silent a moment. Around twelve years ago, Lily had been by his side. He had thought they were happy, but she had upped and left suddenly, without as much as an explanation. He had soon after learned about her wedding in England. He repressed a groan of pain and tried to ignore the pinch to his heart.

“Is he mine?”

“He is, Master Bruce. I have taken the liberty of confirming his identity before bringing this matter to you. Here, I have compiled everything I could find about this young man. As you can see, it is quite the thin folder.”

Bruce knew Alfred was as thorough as they came in his work. If the file was sparsely filled, it meant either there was nothing to be said about the target, or that there was something else hidden. Knowing his luck, it would be the latter. Closing his eyes for a second, he asked:

“Is it a Damian-like situation?”

He hoped not. Having another tiny assassin related to him would be very problematic.

“I think not. According to my research, he does not seem to possess any _particular_ skill. However, I do believe he was raised in some sort of cult. That would explain why he regularly disappears under the radar.”

“Do you have any idea as to why and how he does that?”

“No, unfortunately. A similar thing happened with Miss Evans. From the age of eleven, she regularly disappeared from records.”

The CEO exhaled a raw sigh. It did not bode well for him. At this point, he just hoped it was some sort of silly cult, and not a terrorist organisation, or something in that vein.

“I have hired a private investigator to track any available information about the child. As of now, I just have the results of a health check and some records.”

“Anything of note?”

“… Unfortunately, yes, Master Bruce. His analysis show traces of malnourishment, deficits in an array of nutriments, and some odd levels of blood cells and leucocytes. And he completely changed appearances in a day’s time.”

“Pardon, eructed Wayne? He changed _appearances_? You told me he did not possess that kind of skill!”

“I do not think he possess harmful skills, or that he received any formal training. At the very least, our interactions and those with the nurse I hired did not show any of it. But the camera feed I was able to get show that the boy does not look the same as he did when he entered the hostel.”

“In all the Hells…”

Bruce skimmed over the file, before focusing on the photos of Lily’s son. A scrawny looking pre-teen was seen walking to the front desk, his hair a bird’s nest, thick looking round-rimmed glasses and tattered clothes hung from his slight frame. On the next shot, a boy the same height was pictured, almost bald, without eyebrows, accentuating his gaunt face and haunted look. He was wearing the same clothes as the one in the first photograph.

“Are you positive this is the same boy, Alfred?”

“As sure as can be without having met him in person, sir.”

“…”

“I am sure it quite a lot to take in, Master Bruce. But I also think it would be for the best if young Harry were to come to America.”

“Harry…? Are you sure he is not a liability?”

“I cannot assure you on that matter, but as they say, ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer’. And for now, there is no proof that he may be a danger.”

“I… need time to reflect upon… all of that…”

“I understand perfectly, Master Wayne. I would however plead in favour of booking a flight from London to Gotham. You would have the time to process everything while everything is taken care of.”

Bruce levelled Alfred with a stern glance. He nodded.

“I have the utmost faith in your judgement, Alfred. I trust you will take care of everything and inform me should anything new arise.”

“Naturally, Master Wayne. I shall take my leave for now and let you think in peace.”

“Thank you, Alfred.”

As the door closed behind his butler, Bruce lost himself in thoughts. Another son! He supposed the boy on the second photograph took a bit after him, even if it was difficult to see without any hairs to him. what happened to this boy? And what had happened with Lily? Had she known she was pregnant when she had left?

This situation bitterly reminded him of Talia’s schemes. At least, it did not look like the boy… Harry’s genetics had been tampered with to resemble him as much as possible… He looked through the file again, teeth gritting when he happened upon the death certificate of Lily Potter, nee Evans, and then again upon her marriage certificate. She had wed James Fleamont Potter only months after leaving Gotham. They had died a year or so later. Gas leak, reports said.

As he read the police statements, he came to realise something was odd. There seemed to be no clues, no proof, no traces of investigation. Only the speculations. Gas leak. Frowning, he looked up the date online. It seemed a lot of unusual things had happened this day. Almost all the headlines read _“Owl flocks sighted in broad daylight!” “Shooting stars showers under the sun!” “Funny-dressed walks!” “Mysterious celebrations!”_ Bruce could not help himself but think everything was linked. But how? What would day owls and shooting stars and strangely dressed people celebrating some obscure holidays have to do with…

Owls! He quickly went back to the pictures. The boy was indeed carrying a bird cage in which sat a stark white owl. What an odd pet of choice. Even more so when the records hinted towards home abuse. A quick search informed him that the bird was probably a snowy owl, and that even though weird pets could be owned in the UK (giant cockroaches and tarantulas, for example), snowy owls were an endangered species, and it was illegal to own any. How had the boy come to own one?

There was something more behind this, between the obvious tampering of legal documents, the alarming health check, the change of faces and the weird “happenstances” surrounding Lily’s death. And Bruce Wayne did not believe in coincidences. He was going to get to the bottom of this mess before it could come bite him in the arse.


	6. A Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is invited across the ocean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> Thank you for your support and comment, they mean the world to me.
> 
> As usual, tell me if you spot any mistake.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 5: A Journey

A few days had passed since Nurse Mitchell’s visit and Harry was getting used to being fed three times a day and getting to sleep as much as he wanted. He was a bit sceptic about the meals. Was mister Pennyworth monitoring his food intake or something? Well, at least he did not go hungry like it often happened at the Dursleys. Moreover, he was, for the first time in his life outside of Hogwarts, free of doing his homework. It may have seemed tedious, but he revelled in the use of magic, as minor the spells he was authorised to perform were. He had sent an owl to both Ron and Hermione and had received worried answers.

Hermione wanted him to alert Dumbledore IM-ME-DIA-TE-LY, as she thought it could be some scheme of Voldemort, but Ron had countered that Goblin’s magic could not be tampered with. She then had argued that they thought Gringotts was unbreakable before it happened too, and the two started another of their squabble through letters.

Harry was not sure of his course of action. Every time he had tried to talk to the Headmaster about his life among his relatives, Professor Dumbledore had told him that he was there to be safe, far from Voldemort’s influence, and that his aunt’s blood would protect him. If he had to be completely honest with himself, Harry would admit that this reaction angered him. And the current situation made him feel justified. After all, he was alone in London and nothing had happened to him, no one could even recognise him anymore.

Regarding his appearance, he still started occasionally when in front of his reflection, but he was not as uneasy in his own body as he had been at first. He was still bitter, though, when he looked through the photo album Hagrid had given him a year ago. He wished he looked more like the man who had cared for him for a year and who had given up his life for him.

The phone startled him, and he jumped to his feet to get to the coffee table.

“Hullo?”

“Good morning, young sir.”

“Mister Pennyworth! Err… May I help you?”

“The results have come in and it seems you were telling the truth. Your father and I discussed, and we came to the conclusion that it would be for the best if you were to come to Wayne Manor for the duration of your summer holidays.”

“Come… to America?”

“Indeed, young sir.”

“I mean… I’m not sure it’s a good idea… I have… Err…”

“If you do not find your stay pleasant here, then you will of course be able to go back to your mother’s family. However, I believe it would be beneficial for you to get to know your estranged father.”

“… I… I guess so, Harry answered weakly.”

“Perfect. In two days’ time, you will be driven to Master Wayne’s private plane. I took the liberty of getting you a passport and an American visa. You will be communicated the details of the journey this afternoon.”

“In two days?! So… So soon!”

“Do you have somewhere else to be, young sir?”

“I mean… N-No… But…”

Harry was certain he could hear mister Pennyworth’s brow lift up.

“Then it is settled. No need to waste time. What luggage do you wish to bring with you?”

“I… I have my trunk from school… And… And Hedwig…”

“Hedwig?”

“… My pet owl…”

Hedwig screeched at being called a pet, and Harry sent her an apologetic look, gesturing for her to calm down.

“Well, if you think she can handle an eight-hour flight, then I suppose she is welcome aboard.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You are most welcome, young sir. I trust we will have plenty of time to talk in a few days, so if nothing is pressing, I will relieve you of my presence.”

“I… err… Yeah… See you soon…”

“Indeed. Have a safe flight.”

Harry took a moment to gather his thoughts. He was confused. Everything was happening so fast he felt light-headed. A week ago, he was at Hogwarts, and now he had discovered that his father was not his father, he had changed faces and he was going to the USA. He had never even left the United Kingdom before!

Hedwig perched herself next to his head and softly hooted, as if to console him. He sent her a teary smile, feeling a bit overwhelmed. She would always be his number one cheer leader.

Almost 48 hours later, he was sitting in a luxurious chauffeured car, his trunk in the boot and Hedwig in her cage on his lap, angrily hooting at him, bothered by the motion of the car. He was doing his best to calm her but could not help but notice the curious looks sent his way by the driver. An awkward 40-minute journey later, he was ready to board his first flight. He hoped it would be similar to flying a broom.

Thirty minutes later, he had come to the conclusion that planes were not his cup of tea. He felt vaguely nauseous, his ears hurt, and he could not, for the life of him, find a comfortable position. And his poor winged friend was not faring better. He wished he could have sent her ahead, but he was worried an ocean would be too big an obstacle for her…

He was awakened by the steward, who informed him there were going to land in a few minutes. He was completely disoriented, mouth and throat parched like sand, a brewing headache, and felt the tired weariness that came with long journey. He despaired to see the time. It was 11 am here, in New-York, but back in London, it was 4 pm. And he had woken up at 6 am to get in time to the airport. It was going to be a long day; he could feel it.

The landing was no more agreeable than the taking-off, and he dearly regretted his broom. He was led on unstable legs to a pick-up point where another chauffeured car was waiting for him. Just how rich were his biological father? He had to fight sleep for the first half hour of the trip, but when the driver informed him that they were twenty minutes away from their destination, he instantly sobered up form slumber. Doubt started to gnaw at him. maybe he had miscalculated everything. Maybe it was a really bad idea to have come here. His stomach in a knot and his heart in his throat, he cursed himself for jumping before thinking. Would he never learn his lesson? He was however interrupted in his mental self-flagellation when the car stopped in front of a huge, forged gate.

The driver helped him take his luggage out of the boot and let him to drive off in the distance. A sense of doom invaded Harry. If he died right now, it would take weeks or even months to find his corpse. He nervously clutched his wand, hidden in his sleeve. His soul almost left his body when the gate opened without anyone there.

‘Just an automated device, Harry. Stop being stupid and skittish, you have lived among muggles all your life, you know this kind of things…”

He tentatively walked into the property, and noticed an old man coming his way. The newcomer was tall, thin, his face sharp-featured. In spite of his apparent age, betrayed by his receding pepper-and-salt hair, he moved with elegance, stealth, and effortless. He was wearing an impeccable pressed suit, probably a butler’s attire, mused Harry after catching a glace of his stark white gloves.

The man stopped a few paces from him and slightly bowed at the waist.

“Master Harry, my name is Alfred Pennyworth. I am Master Bruce’s butler. We have talked but had not had the occasion of meeting before today.”

Harry was feeling out of place and tried to look as proper as he could.

“Err… I mean, hello mister Pennyworth. I am… I mean, it is a pleasure to meet you…”

“The pleasure is shared, young master. May I take your luggage? I believe Master Bruce is waiting for us inside.”

“I! I can take care of it, no need for you to…”

The rest of Harry’s sentence got lost as he watched the wiry looking aging man lift his heavy trunk without as much as a grunt under his bulging eyes and open mouth. Looking his way, Alfred Pennyworth lifted a distinguished brow.

“Master Harry?”

“Ah, err… Yes?”

“Let us depart, would you?”

“Of… Of course… I’m sorry…”

“There is no harm done.”

The elder opened the way, Harry awkwardly following behind, clutching Hedwig’s cage like a lifeline. The more they approached the manor, the less easy Harry felt. This place was huge! The parc itself was luxuriant and manicured, and the building looked like a structure straight out of a book, enormous, castle-like and stone made. It kind of reminded him of Hogwarts and a pang stung his heart.

Going up two flights of stairs, Alfred led him inside. If Harry thought the outside was extravagant, it was nothing compared to the inside. Fine china, tapestries, wood panelling, chandeliers and marble statues seemed to inhabit every available surface. In his ratty jeans and oversized sweater, Harry felt very out of place. He could almost see Malfoy walking down the stairs, chin up and eyes full of scorn.

He let himself be led through numerous hallways, until Alfred opened a door and indicated him to go in. As soon as he entered, the door closed behind him. his grip on Hedwig’s cage tightened again, and she hooted, clearly upset by his turmoil.

He was in an office, bigger than the Dursleys’ living-room. Half the space was occupied by couches arranged around a fireplace. The other half was organised around a massive solid wood desk in front of which were disposed a couple of plush looking seats. The walls were covered by impressive floor-to-ceiling bookcases. In front of the majestic windows overlooking the gardens, in front of him stood a massive man, tall and muscular, looking outside.

The man turned to face him, and Harry was shocked to face a somewhat familiar face. It was not evident from the get-go, but some of his new facial feature were undeniably similar to that of the bear of a man in front of him. Still a bit short for his age, Harry felt mouse-like. The steely eyes of the man were piercing his soul and his bespoke black suit and midnight black hair only enhanced the intensity of the stranger he was facing. Harry felt more and more uneasy, and thought he may throw up, when the man spoke in a deep voice:

“Harry… Potter…”


	7. Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets some of the Wayne manor's residents. It goes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 
> 
> Thank you for your support, review, and for continuing to read this story.  
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.
> 
> As always, I count on you to tell me of any mistakes you spot, or of any theory you think of.

Chapter 5: Encounters

“Harry… Potter…”

Harry gulped. The voice was as hard as the eyes piercing his very soul and his presence was so intense even Hedwig had settled down quietly in her cage. Clever girl. Harry wished he could hide his face under his wing too.

“S-Sir…”

“My name is Bruce Wayne. According to the results of the blood test, I am you genitor. I am willing to believe this for now. However, I want to know why I only heard about you now.”

Harry was flabbergasted. Shocked. Was this man for real? Did he just implied that Harry may be lying? Or that he may be hiding part of the truth from him? What kind of person acted like that? A migraine started to crawl slowly to the front of his head.

“I… I did not know you existed before a few days ago…”

“Didn’t Lily inform you of this?”

“Maybe she would have, had she not died eleven years ago.”

Or maybe she would not have liked him getting to know such a jerk! Completed Harry in his head. His eyes were fixed to the wooden floor, teeth clenched so hard it hurt. Why couldn’t he meet nice people for once?

He did not see Bruce’s frown deepen, nor his mouth quirk down.

“Then how did you discover we were related?”

“I… I went to the bank and had to prove my identity. There was a mandatory blood test and I found out I was not James Potter’s son.”

“A blood test? Must be one hell of a bank.”

“They do not take security lightly…”

“What is the name of this bank?”

Harry hesitated. Could he give this mean man Gringotts name? Maybe it was like Hogwarts, and a false Muggle identity was created to cover up the reality? He really hoped so.

“Er… Gringotts…”

“Gringotts? I have never heard of it.”

Harry shrugged. What could he add? That it was only accessible to wizard and magic-related folk? Well, that would surely bring Wayne down a peg or two. And get him in trouble. As much as he would like for the man to stop antagonising him, he would prefer not to provoke a second Dursley-like situation. Enough people wanted him dead as it was. No need to add a rich American prick to the list, even if he was his father.

He heard Wayne sigh profoundly.

“Harry… What do you want from me? Money? Power? Because let me tell you right now that I don’t give in to blackmail.”

The man may have said something else, but Harry could not hear anything over the rush in his ears. What? Who? WHAT?

“Shut up! How dare you talk to me like I’m some sort of low life!!! I just wanted to know my family!!! I don’t care who you are, or how rich you are, and if this is the kind of man you are, I’m glad mom left!!! I wish I never knew you, you…!! You…!! Stupid!!!”

Out of breath, spitting fire, Harry turned on his heals and ran out of the room. He could not see where he was going, eyes wet and glassy with tears, but he still ran as fast as he could out of the room and towards -he hoped- the exit. What was he thinking, coming here? He should have known better than to try to escape Privet Drive. He should have stayed there, spent the summer bored and lonely and shouted or run after. He would not have had to endure such a bitter realisation… he ran for as long as he could until his lung seemed to catch on fire each time he inspired. He stumbled to a wall and let himself slide to the floor.

Hedwig looked frazzled and angry at having been jostled in her cage and made it known by aggressively hooting and screeching at him. however, when he pressed his face to the cage and hiccupped both from lack of breath and from an abundance of tears, she only lightly pinched him once before soothingly rubbing her beak onto his cheek.

When he finally calmed himself, he whispered to her:

“I’m… I’m sorry, Hedwig. I will find a window and let you out… Stay near, I don’t think we will be welcome for long in here.”

He stood up and wobbly knees and tried to determine where he was. He did not recognise anything around him, and a quick look through the window showed him a different landscape from the one he had seen at the front of the house. Maybe he was more toward the back of the house? He succeeded in opening the window on his third try, hands shaking like leaves in the wind. Harry opened Hedwig’s cage and she took off immediately, hooting one last time before speeding off in the distance.

“An owl? What are you? Some kind of circus freak, like bird brain?”

Harry sun around, startled by the high but cold voice behind him. In front of him stood a boy, around his age and height, dressed smartly in slacks and a shirt that probably cost more than every article of clothing Harry had ever owned combined. His jet-black hair was swept back and let his frown visible to everyone. Harry took a step back. Was the boy a clone of Bruce Wayne? He looked like a mini version of the rude man, except for his eyes. Actually, his eyes looked similar to Harry’s.

“Are you deaf or just a simpleton?”

“W-What?”

“Humph! Are one of the freaky friends of Grayson? I was not aware they recruited wet-eared children at the circus.”

“Wh… What?! I! I’m not a freak!”

“Oh? So you are a poacher? Or maybe a stupid kid who thought it would be fun to get an endangered animal as a pet?”

“What? No! Hedwig’s a friend! I’m not a poacher, stop insulting me!”

“… So you ARE a freak.”

“I AM NOT A FREAK!”

Harry was out of his mind. He was not a freak! Petunia and Vernon may call him that all the time, but he was not!!! He was a wizard! And he would not let anyone call him that horrible name ever again!

A terrified shout resonated, and he startled. To his absolute horror, he saw the boy crash through the window, swept outside by an unknown force. He felt the blood leave his face. Oh Merlin! What had he done? Stunned, he could only watch the miniature Bruce Wayne collide into a nearby tree and crash brutally to the ground.

The sound of hurried steps came to him and he spotted a young man running towards him, take in the scene and stop.

“What in the…”

The man turned to him, and Harry could do nothing but the worst thing that could happen in this situation after almost twelve hours without eating, a week of stress and perturbed sleep and a sudden uncontrolled release of magic. He threw up on the newcomer and promptly passed out.


	8. Encounters Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim probably shouldn't have got up this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings, 
> 
> Thank you for your continuous support,  
> As always, do not hesitate to point out any errors in the text.  
> Do not hesitate either to tell me of your theories in the comments, I always love to read them.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Tim is confused

“Well, Master Bruce. I suppose it could have gone worse. You could have greeted him in full Batman regalia.”

“We can’t trust him yet, Alfred. You know that.”

Alfred merely rose his eyebrow.

“It seems to me that you were in the presence of a frightened child, Master Bruce, not an assassin.”

“We don’t know that yet!”

“Master Bruce, with all due respect I owe to both Master Damian and you, I would fear for Gotham if you could not handle a 12-year-old assassin on your own, however they may have been trained.”

Bruce’s lips thinned, but a stern glance from Alfred convinced him that he would not win this argument. He sighed, shoulders dropping.

“I am worried, Alfred. As of now, we don’t know enough about him to judge him adequately.”

“Does that mean we should treat a mere child like a suspect? I am afraid it would make him angrier and more resentful, so more likely to be a liability.”

“…”

“Well, crying over spilled milk will not do us any good. Just try to remember that life already seems to have been rather harsh with him next time you two interact. As for now, we have a child on the loose to catch before he hurts himself. Not to mention that Masters Tim and Damian are not yet aware of his presence here.”

Alfred then promptly turned around and went to find his ward before anything could happen. Bruce took a few moments to sigh and try to get his thoughts straight before heading out of the room himself. However, his phone pinged in Tim’s tone. He frowned, and he got a foreboding that he may have found his ‘son’.

“Tim.”

“Bruce… I think we’ve got a problem…”

Tim was, for once, not sure of what was happening. He had been looking for the demon-child to get him to give back the batarangs he had ‘borrowed’ when he had heard a panicked shout and a glass shatter. He had immediately started to run. Who would dare attack Batman in his own den?

However, he stopped dead at the crime scene. In front of him stood a sickly-looking boy, gaunt and haunted-eyed, with a panicked expression on his face. At his feet laid a discarded bird cage. Who was this child? And what was he doing here? Where were the assassins? But before he could ask the child what was happening, the trembling young proceeded to throw up on him then passed out.

Forcing down his gag reflex was more of a challenge than Tim would have wanted, but the stench of the vomit and the fact that _he_ was covered in it were a good excuse in his opinion. He was about to get down to help the unconscious child when his finely-honed reflex made him block a kick that would probably have debilitated him. To his surprise, the attack came from no other than the devil’s spawn himself, who promptly tried to overtake him again as soon as he realised his first hit had failed.

Tim was nothing if not observant, and he noticed that Damian’s appearance, usually as manicured as Bruce’s, had been roughed up, and quite a bit, if one were to trust the dirt tracks on his clothes and face, the scratches he bore, the bruise that was blossoming on his cheekbone and the twig caught in his hair.

“Move, Drake!” Shouted Damian, trying to push him.

Tim suddenly understood he was not the demon-child’s target. The passed-out boy was.

“What the hell, Damian!”

“Move, so I can neutralise this coward freak!”

“No! Stop it now!”

A series of blows was exchanged before Tim succeeded in subduing his assailant. Without releasing the headlock he had the gremlin in, he panted:

“What do you think you’re doing, Ghul? Attacking child civilians, now?”

“He anything but a civilian, Drake! Let me out before I break your bones!”

“No way, psycho! You stay down!”

A torrent of Arabic swears were spouted against him, but Tim was able not to let his prisoner go. Some heavy wrestling later, he had finally succeeded in hogtying his nemesis. He knew however that it would not take long before the devil got out of his bonds, so he lifted the stranger up in his arms, and took off as smoothly as possible, grimacing when he strained his sore arm, courtesy of the savage tied up behind him.

He ran through a few hallways before entering a room and closing it behind him. He laid his charge down on the couch and moved a liquor cabinet in front of the door. He knew how Damian could get when he was determined to get somewhere.

Tim walked up to the kid to check if he was doing okay. He was breathing and his heartbeat was steady if a bit elevated. Lifting up his eyelids, he checked his pupils. They looked normal. He took out his phone and speed-dialled Bruce.

“Tim.”

“Bruce… I think we’ve got a problem…”

“Is it related to an unhealthy-looking stranger around Damian’s age?”

“Well… Yes, actually… He was passed out in a corridor and Damian tried to kill him…”

A suffering sigh echoed from the other side.

“Where are you, Tim?”

“Err… I’m in the pool room near the back, on the first floor…”

“I’m coming. Don’t let Damian in.”

“Of course, no-”

Bruce had hung up. Tim exhaled loudly, before abruptly retching. Oh Lord! He had to get out of these soiled clothes before he threw up for good. Without breathing, he took off his waistcoat as delicately as possible, so as not to touch the… stains. He then went in search of clothes, found in a drawer, and cleaned the boy’s face and neck in a summary way. He wondered if he was not too hot, in his large, heavy, and ill-fitting clothes, but decided against helping him out of them. Even though the kid looked harmless, he preferred to have Bruce’s opinion first.

A few moments later, someone tried to open the door, bumping into the cabinet.

“Tim, it’s me.”

“Bruce! Just a minute!”

Tim hurried to move the piece of furniture and grant Bruce the passage. His model looked a bit tired, tense lines in the corners of his eyes.

“Where’s the demo- I mean Damian?”

“With Alfred. What happened, exactly?”

“Well, I heard a fight and when I arrived, this kid vomited on me. Then Damian tried to kill him, I think he was thrown out of the window…”

“What? Damian? Did he do that?” asked Bruce, sombrely, pointing to the couch.

“I don’t know… He was already pretty shaken up when I came, I don’t think he would be able to beat a kitten, to be honest…”

“Then why would Damian want to kill him?”

Tim refrained from asking if Damian had ever needed a reason to want to kill anyone or act batshit crazy. He must have not hidden his thoughts very well if Bruce’s stern look was anything to go by. He cowered slightly, abashed. Bruce put his hand onto the boy’s forehead, checking his temperature, before taking him in his arms ang leaving the room. Tim followed his mentor upstairs, in the guestrooms’ aisle, and opened the door to an unused one for Bruce.

The billionaire entered the dim-lit room and deposited the child on the bed. Tim looked away when the man started to undress the boy. He spotted strange luggage in the room: an antique-looking leather suitcase with padlocks and a battered duffle-bag. The kid’s, probably?

Bruce got out of the room with the soiled clothes and Tim followed him closely, not without noticing a raw scar, stark on the boy’s overly thin and pale left arm. He closed the door and jogged up to Bruce’s level.

“Who was that?”

A pregnant pause awkwardly took place before Bruce finally answered him.

“Apparently, my son.”

Tim stopped dead. What?


	9. Chapter 8: What is happening?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bats are getting more and more confused, and, in Damian's case, angry. Harry wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, 
> 
> Thank you for your support and your comments!  
> I hope you will like the chapter. It will start to move soon ;-)
> 
> As usual, please point me the errors in the work so I can correct them.
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 8: What is happening?

When Harry woke up, he was disoriented. What had happened? Where was he? Why was the taste in his mouth so bad? It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and he groaned. Seemed like his first meeting with his ‘father’ had gone exceedingly well. Then he had accidently thrown someone out of a window. Dear Merlin! How was he going to explain _that_?

He sat up, and promptly paled at the sight of his scantily clad bony body. Who had divested him? And why? He knew he was a bit grimy from travelling, but he could unclothe himself! He looked around and spotted his trunk, still unopened, but no trace of his old clothes. Quickly, he tiptoed from the bed to his luggage and dressed himself. A quick glance to his watch told him it was the day after he arrived, around 7 am. His stomach chose this moment to remind him he hadn’t eaten in a long time. Wisely, he chose to brush his teeth first, before wandering outside.

He took a moment to gaze in the mirror. His hair was slowly growing out again, seemingly tamer, and lighter than before, dark brown instead of jet-black. His skin was still sickly but not pasty white anymore. His eyebrows were also coming in. He scowled at his reflection. Since the potion, he had trouble identifying himself with his appearance. He rushed out of the bathroom, deeply unsettled by his new image.

Carefully, he opened the door, finding the corridor lit despite the early hour. Cautious, he observed his surroundings. The walls were richly decorated, with paintings and portraits, and statues, and chandeliers. The hard-wood floors were covered by a sumptuous and plush carpet assorted to the heavy curtains covering the walls. Where was he, exactly? Even Hogwarts was not this richly decorated! And there, the paintings could help you if you were lost!

He started to wander down the corridor until he found some stairs leading down into a hall. As soon as his foot landed on the floor, he heard someone not far from him.

“Greetings, young master.”

“Ah! Startled Harry, er… sorry, I hadn’t seen you, mister Pennyworth.”

“No harm done I assure you. May I guide you to the dining room to enjoy some breakfast?”

“I… Err… I could cook something if you lead me to the kitchen…”

“Nonsense! Breakfast is already done and waiting for you in the dining room, along with masters Bruce, Tim and Damian.”

“… I am not sure I should go…”

“If this is about master Bruce, let me assure you that he shall no longer treat you like he did yesterday.”

“… Oh… And… Who are Tim and… Damian?”

“Master Bruce adopted master Tim years ago and is the biological father of master Damian.”

Harry was shocked. He had brothers?! What were they going to think of him? Were they going to be like the Weasleys? Or like Dudley? Would they get along? Was Wayne really going to change?

“Young master, is everything okay?”

“I… err… Yeah…”

Harry pathetically stuttered under the dubious eye of Pennyworth at his answer. He just didn’t know what to say! He had always dreamt of having a family, even only one person! And now, he had a father that despised him, but he may have brothers!

He slightly startled when the butler’s hand popped next to his head holding a tissue. Confused, he took it and came to the realisation that he had started to cry softly. Cheeks burning, he hastily wiped the tears away. Oh dear, he was looking like a baby sniffling for nothing in front of an adult.

“May I advise something to eat, young master? After all, you came a long way and did not have the opportunity to eat dinner yesterday.”

Trying to will his blush away, Harry nodded. The butler sent him a tiny smile, and left at an unhurried pace, so that he could follow.

A few turns later, Pennyworth step aside and opened a door for him. a bit unnerved by the unusual decorum, Harry gingerly went in. The room was as lavishly decorated as the rest of the mansion, very spacious and dominated by a humongous table and formidable chimney. At one end was seated Bruce Wayne, and next to him sat the young man that had come to him. In front of him sat the boy he had thrown out of a window, currently glaring holes into his head, and behind him, a man a bit older, a calming hand on the youngest’s shoulder. Already uneasy because of the piercing stares and neutral faces, he suddenly prayed for the floor to swallow him whole when he spotted the two owls calmly eating out of the plate of the mean looking boy.

Godric’s balls!

~~~~~

A few hours earlier, in front of Harry's room, Bruce was getting ready to answer his charges' questions.

“Your son?”

“My son, answered Bruce, a sour expression on his face.”

Tim exhaled a long sigh. He could do it. Maybe this boy was not like the devil’s spawn that ran rampant across the property… Actually, that could explain his reaction. The demon was already livid with jealousy that Bruce had adopted children before having him, and spent his time reminding them that he was the _true_ heir. If he had learnt that Bruce had had another blood child, he must have lost his mind over it. Served the brat right, in Tim’s humble opinion. Speaking of the devil. He was stomping towards them, closely followed by Alfred, a dark look on his face, almost snarling in rage.

He came up to Bruce, a death glare directed at his father:

“Let. Me. In. Father.”

“You know I cannot, Damian. However, I need to talk to Dick, Tim and you.”

“You are going to let this coward freak free to go as he pleases?”

Bruce merely rose a, eyebrow at Damian’s words, and sent an inquisitive look at his son’s unusual appearance.

“You should get changed, then join us in the Batcave. I will contact Dick at once.”

“And the menace?”

Tim would have liked to say that the main menaces in him were either Damian himself, or Bruce when he was in a bad mood, but now that he knew the kid was the bat’s son, he had doubts.

“Alfred will keep an eye on him via the surveillance system. Let’s meet in 15 minutes so that you and Tim can refresh.”

“Ugh! Fine!”

“And Damian. No going near the boy. Am I understood?”

Damian snorted, already half turned. He was stopped by Bruce’s heavy hand on his shoulder. The billionaire’s eyes were deadly serious.

“Am I understood?”

“… Yes, father, sneered Damian.”

He shrugged his father’s hand off of his shoulder and prowled in the direction of his room, practically vibrating with rage and tension.

Bruce sighed profoundly, before turning to Tim.

“Go change too. I will call Dick.”

“I have already contacted master Dick, master Bruce. He should be there in a little under an hour.”

“Thank you, Alfred. Good thinking.”

“Of course, sir.”

Bruce walked to his office, and Tim pondered a moment in front of the door before a pointed look from Alfred had him get out of his head and scurry to wash a minimum.

A quarter of an hour later, all four of them were in front of the Batcave’s monitors. Alfred had served everyone a cup of tea and some pastry, but even though both were as deliciously decadent as ever, a tense silence filled the room.

“Father. I demand explanations.”

Bruce exhaled before answering.

“Alfred and I were recently contacted by a young boy. A certain Harry Potter.”

He closely watched Tim and Damian’s faces to see if any reacted to the name, to no avail.

“He had just learnt that he was… my son. Of course, we ran some test from there, but at first glance it seems he is indeed my…”

“Your son! I am your son, your rightful heir! Whose harlot is he? How dare he show his disgraceful face in here!”

“Enough! Bruce had brutally stood up, eyes dark with anger. Do not speak of him like that. He is not some… harlot’s son. I knew his mother even before I knew yours! Things… didn’t work out between us and she left, but I had no idea that she was bearing my son.”

Alfred and Tim both were keeping a close eye on Damian. The young boy was shaking with rage, teeth so clenched it must be hurting. Of course, Tim was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of another ‘brother’, a bit self-conscious that he was not enough for Bruce. But he knew rationally that Bruce would never abandon them. Damian… Sometimes, Tim wondered what kind of horrifying treatment Damian had been subjected to in the League to always feel threatened by anyone and anything.

“The boy’s story was full of holes, and unfortunately, we could not find much about him at all. We hired a private detective to investigate his family, he should get back to us in a few days. We do not know enough of the boy to determine if he is a menace yet, and we will conduct further tests here to prove his say, but, as of now, he is not to be considered like an enemy.”

“Then, _father_ , I guess you can explain how he threw me out of a window without touching me, seethed Damian.”

“He what?”

“You heard me. The _pretendant_ managed to throw me out of a window through the glass without touching me. And you say he is not dangerous? Ha! I beg to differ! He should be put dow-”

“Err… Guys? Are they yours?”

All heads turned to one Dick Grayson, still in biker gear. He was looking a mix of disbelieving and uncomfortable, but that could easily be explained by the two big owls that he was supporting on his arms, as far away from his face as he could.

“They were waiting outside to be let in. They are carrying… letters…”


	10. Chapter 9: Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes home. Things get tense in the batfamily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings!
> 
> Thank you for your continuous comments and support.  
> I hope you will enjoy this chapter.  
> As usual, point out to me any error, typo or confused passage.
> 
> I hope to read you soon.

Chapter 9: Complications

Dick was quietly enjoying the late afternoon light pouring through his windows, unwinding from the two or three previous patrols, when the first notes of “You’re the Best” by Joe Esposito rang through the room. He put his phone to his ear and answered:

“Hey, Alf! How are you and B doing?”

“Master Dick, I am well, thank you, and you?”

“Same old, same old, Alf…”

“Unfortunately, I am not just calling you to know how you are doing. Master Bruce will need to talk to you, master Tim and master Damian as soon as possible.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing dire, I assure you. But it would still be for the best if you were to come to the manor as soon as possible.”

“… Ok, I’m coming. I should be there in an hour at most. Thanks, Alf! See you!”

“See you in a few moments, master Dick.”

Ok, so maybe despite Alfred’s reassurances, Dick had still been a bit worried. He had barely finished putting on his biking gear that he was already hightailing it in Blüdhaven’s streets.

Less than forty minutes later, he finds himself entering Wayne’s main gate and coming to a stop with a screech in front of the stairs leading up to the main entrance. He would have rushed inside if it weren’t for the strange sight that welcomed him before the massive doors.

Two majestic and massive owls were seemingly… waiting? For the doors to open. As soon as they spotted him, instead of flying away like regular animals, they stayed as they were, content to stare at him expectantly. A bit taken aback, Dick started to make grand gestures with his arms, hoping that it would make them flee. However, the owls did not seem phased in the least, and Dick was almost sure that the grey one was judging him.

Cautiously, as to avoid being attacked, Dick inched toward the door under the gaze of the calm volatiles. As soon as he touched the doorknob, the birds hopped to him. A bit distraught, he caught sight of paper tied to their legs. A letter? Were they trained owls? Tentatively, he reached out for the mail but got pinched by one of the birds. The owl hooted aggressively. Miffed, Dick retracted his hand. What was going on? He shook his head and decided that Alfred’s matter was more important than some… messenger-birds… wasn’t it pigeon, usually? He opened the door, but before he could enter, the owls took off and peaked to him. raising his arms in protection (Damian would without a doubt maim him for life if he found out he had injured innocent animals), Dick was surprised when weights attached themselves to his arms. The flipping birds had elected to use him as a perch! Oh Lord! Bruce was going to be _pissed_.

Gingerly, he started his journey through the mansion, two heavy birds attached to his extremities. He -miraculously according to him- succeeded in opening the passageway to the Batcave. Soon, voices could be heard from the central hub. By the height and intensity, it was likely Damian was throwing a fit.

He crossed the threshold and cut him:

“Err… Guys? Are they yours?”

Everyone turned to him, and their eyes bulged out. He must have been a sight.

“They were waiting outside to be let in. They are carrying… letters…”

“What the f-”

“Language, master Tim!”

“Dick, what are you doing, growled Bruce, clearly in a mood.”

“Well, they were waiting to get in, and they are carrying mail, so…”

“And you did not think it could have been a trap?”

“Of course, I did! But I weighted the pros and cons of letting them inside, and… they were really insistent, ok, B?”

A profound and weary sigh escaped Bruce, and Dick felt guilty. Maybe he should have battled to keep the birds outside…

“To whom are these addressed?”

“Sorry?”

“The addressee of these letters, who is it? repeated Alfred.”

“Err… I can’t read from here… started Dick, cheeks reddening slightly.”

He really hoped he did not look as uncomfortable as he felt (he did, would Tim assure him later). Alfred got closer, and was stopped by Bruce barking:

“Alfred! We do not know if they are a threat! Stay back!”

“With all due respect, master Bruce, these two great owls do not look threatening. And if they are, I sure hope you believe myself able of defending myself against two volatiles…”

Alfred accompanied his remark by a pointedly arched eyebrow and a stern gaze. Bruce’s lips thinned but he did not say anything more. Tim looked a bit abashed and walked back the step he had taken in order to get closer to Alfred. Damian simply crossed his arms, chin jutted and eyes thunderous.

Calmly, Alfred reached to the first bird, and lightly petted his head from the tip of his fingers. The owl closed his eyes for the duration of the caress but hooted menacingly when Alfred’s hand got closed to the mail.

“Shh… tutted Alfred, I do not intend to take away your charge, I just need to check the recipient.”

The owl grudgingly settled down, carefully eyeing the butler, suspicious. Alfred merely turned the letter to read what was on it.

“Mm…”

“What? What is it, Alfred?”

“These letters are addressed to one Harry Potter, Wayne Manor, 1007 Mountain Drive, Gotham City, New-Jersey, Third guestroom.”

“How?”

“What?”

“It seems that a discussion with master Potter will be needed as soon as he wakes up.”

“Let’s wake him up now!”

“Master Damian, I would be most displeased to hear that you, or any of those present here” he stared pointedly at them “were to disturb master Potter’s sleep in any way.”

“He is a danger, Pennyworth! Not one of your guests!”

“He is but a child and will be treated as such. He has already had more than his share of emotions due to some… behaviour… and I will not see him put under more stress.”

“Tch! You will regret this, Pennyworth! You will see, you will rue the day we did not eliminate him!”

Damian stormed out, almost spitting fire. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt… very tired right then.

“Err… Not to break the mood or anything, but could someone help me with these?”

Dick was still looking fairly uncomfortable, holding the owls at arm’s length.

“We would be better in a more… comfortable setting, I believe.”

And Alfred took off, letting Tim, Dick, and Bruce scrambling after him. As soon as Tim and Bruce sat themselves in cosy armchairs, back on the first floor, the birds glided from Dick’s arms to the coffee table. The young man rubbed his forearms before taking a seat next to Tim, whose hair he affectionally ruffled. Alfred left the room for a minute to gather tea and biscuits, some of them crushed for the owls.

“I think it would be best to inform master Dick of what has happened in the last few days.”

“…” sighed Bruce. “I found out that I had a son, a year older than Damian, from a woman that left a long time ago… his name is Harry Potter.”

“…”

“We did not succeed in finding anything substantial about him… some of his files actually look like they have been tampered with…”

“And you took him in like that?”

“What master Bruce did not tell you, is that clear signs of abuse and negligence were visible.”

Dick deflated, sullen. No wonder Dami was in a fit. He must be feeling incredibly conflicted. And with his unhealthy habit of bottling up everything… Cynically, Dick wondered if this trait was inherited from Bruce or if he had had to be trained to repress everything.

“Even though” continued Bruce “Damian told me he had been thrown out the window by the boy, but that Harry had done that without touching him.”

“What?”

“When I met them, Harry immediately lost consciousness, and Damian had just been yeeted through the glass and down a tree” Added Tim.

“But… how?”

“That is what we will ask master Potter tomorrow, master Dick. He will no doubt feel cornered, so let us not add to it the stress of a day of travel and two arguments on top of it all.”

“… I suppose you’re right, Alf…”

“Indeed I am. I will monitor his corridor so you can rest, and we will meet him in the great dining room. I would not expect the poor boy to wake up before at least ten to twelve hours.”

Only grumbles answered him.

“Of course, I expect each and everyone of you to be on their best behaviour.”

More grumbles.

“Master Dick, may I ask that you shadow master Damian? I fear that he may not be at his best right now…”

“Yeah… I got it, Alf. I’ll go see Little D…”

He got up after a last and brief squeeze on Tim’s arm, and left swiftly. In the room, the last three occupants felt the weight of all the ambient tension. Nobody was really looking forward to the upcoming meeting.


End file.
